


Who the Hell Is Ginger?

by WinterPoet



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Basically Steve has a pissy cat, M/M, and Bucky is understanding, meet-cute au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5811367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterPoet/pseuds/WinterPoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all fairness, if his neighbor wasn't prepared to have an angry cat loose in his apartment, the guy shouldn't have left the window open. He also had no right to be so hot, but that was beside the point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who the Hell Is Ginger?

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off one of the au posts I have long ago lost track of. The prompt was something along the lines of "I swear I'm not a robber, my cat just got into your house" Enjoy, and helpful criticism is always welcome!

“Ginger!”

It had now been six minutes since that stupid cat jumped out the window and Steve could feel a stomach ulcer coming on. 

“I swear if you pee in someone else’s house I will skin you and use you as a blanket,” he continued mumbling under his breathe. 

Steve stiffened as he heard the jangling of keys outside the apartment, and heard the door creak open.

“Hello?” 

_Oh dear God why. The one day the guy next door decides to come home at a reasonable time, is the day that my feline hellspawn decides to break into his house._

Steve looked around wildly, searching for a place to hide. 

“Hel-,” His neighbor stopped mid-word to drop into a fighting stance. Lunging forward, he grabbed ahold of Steve and pulled him to his chest with his arm across Steve’s throat. 

“Who the hell are you and why are you in my house?” the man grunted in a low voice. 

_Who the hell are you and why are you not in my pants?_ Wait, no. Now was not the time for a hook-up. Steve figured he probably had 0.3 seconds before this guy called the cops or took care of the problem himself. 

“I - uh - I mean - my uh, cat - he, uh he - he pees everywhere” Smooth, Rogers.

“What? That doesn’t - What does that have to do with anything? Did Nat send you?”

“No, my cat. He jumped through the open window into your house and he’s a bit of a psychopath and he pees _everywhere_ and destroys everything he can get his claws on and I’d get rid of him but he was my mom’s and I don’t have the heart to send him to a pound where they’ll kill him because she loved that stupid cat,” Steve realized he was babbling but he couldn’t seemed to stop and Mr. I’m-Some-Sort-of-Ninja-Army-Man really needed to let go of him because he couldn’t breathe.

“Slow down, fella. Did you crawl through my window?” Army-Man spun him around so that they faced each other, but kept a tight grip on Steve’s shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged. It hadn’t been hard. The window was all the way open and he was tiny. 

“It’s like a thirty foot drop down!” exclaimed Army-Man. 

“I couldn’t let Ginger destroy your stuff, could I?” 

Army-Man smiled as he began to shake his head in disbelief. “Well, comin’ home to a house that reeked of cat piss would’ve sucked but, Mary n’ Joseph - you really went above and beyond the call of duty, buddy,”

Steve smiled, but it quickly morphed into a grimace. He still couldn’t breathe and he could feel his lungs growing tighter. He started sucking in air, preparing for the onslaught of gasps he could feel coming. “Inhaler,” he mumbled.

“Oh my God, do you have asthma? And I just jostled you around like a jerk because you were trying to do the nice thing. God James, you’re an idiot. Okay, uh, where do you keep your inhaler?”

“It’s on my table,” Steve said between stunted breathes. Army-Man, or James as he now knew, took his hands off Steve and darted to the door.

“Is your door locked? Ah, forget it,” Steve couldn’t help but chuckle lightly as James ran frantically to the window and climbed through it. 

“Where’d ya say it was? Nevermind, I got it,” shouted James as he moved aside the stacks of paper on Steve’s table. He climbed back through the window and across the thin section of roof that jutted from the wall, practically connecting the two buildings. 

“Here,” Bucky said as he handed the inhaler to Steve. “Y’know, I’ve got a little nephew with asthma, ‘bout two. You kinda of remind me of him. Same height,” James smiled impishly down at Steve, who was trying his best to look like an intimidating twenty-three year old man who is _definitely_ taller than a two year old. 

“Well uh, I guess I should be heading back home. I mean, after I grab Ginger.” Steve said, awkwardly shifting his weight as James continued to stare at him with a soft smile on his face.

“You sit right there, mister. I’m gonna go grab the cat from hell and you are gonna work on breathing properly, capiche?” James ordered, and began to walk around the apartment.

Steve sat and listened to the soft calls of “here kitty, kitty, kitty” laughing once more when he heard “Gotcha!” quickly followed by “What the-! Ow! Stoppit! Ow!” and a flurry of rather creative curses. 

James walked back into the living room holding a rather surly looking cat at arms length. “I believe you ordered the feline mignon with a side of douchebag and just a _sprinkle_ of obesity?”

Steve chuckled. “I’m afraid so. Sorry about all of this again,” Steve apologized as he gingerly took the cat from Bucky.

“Don’t be, man. I haven’t had this much fun on a Tuesday night since college. Oh, and by the way, feel free to use the door this time,” said James smirking.

Steve felt a sort of tightness in his chest as he looked at that lopsided smile and made his way to the door, feeling as if he had missed an opportunity, or maybe just that something great had begun.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he realized something was stuck to Ginger’s collar. Steve plucked a folded piece of paper from where it had been secured to the collar with piece of duct tape. 

 

_You look awfully cute when you’re flustered. Ring me up sometime,  
maybe we can go buy a muzzle (and I mean for that cat of yours!)_

_P.S. Call me Bucky_

Steve smiled down at the slip of paper with a number clearly scrawled on the back and grinned. Beginning of something great indeed.


End file.
